Time and Place
by dibdab4
Summary: Accounts of various periods in Elsie Hughes' and Charles Carson's lives; from farm girl to housekeeper of one of England's stately homes. S5 spoilers within.
1. Chapter 1

** 1882**

Josephine Hughes had outstayed her welcome once again.

Amelia Hughes opened the letter from her husband's eldest brother Samuel expecting to hear news of a new grandchild, but instead, found a warning that she was soon to be visited by her husband's second oldest sister. Her shoulders slumped as a groan escaped her throat.

Her elder daughter Becky looked up from the kitchen table where she sat with a pencil and paper.

"Aunt Jo is coming to visit." There was no need for her to offer more explanation. Becky's bottom lip protruded. Her daughter had suffered from a lack of oxygen when she was born which left her with a diminished mental capacity. The doctor equated her mental abilities to those of a three year old. Diminished capacity withstanding, she still knew "Aunt Jo" was not a good thing.

"I know, my darling. We don't like it when Aunt Jo visits."

A loud thump at the back door announced the arrival of sixteen year old Elizabeth Cecilia Hughes as she crashed through the door, her arms full of firewood. "Colder than a witch's…"

"We all know it is cold, Elsie. No need to be coarse."

"Sorry, mam." She placed the wood on the pile to the right of the fireplace. She examined the downward turned mouths on both her mother and her sister. "What's wrong? Someone die?"

"Elsie, you mustn't say such things."

Elsie smiled apologetically at her mother. "What is it?"

"Aunt Jo."

The words were barely out of mother's mouth when Elsie suddenly clutched at her heart and dramatically fell to her knees, collapsing in a heap on the floor, "Noooooooo!"

Her mother didn't look down as she stepped over her daughter's slumped form, "Very entertaining, madam. Now take off your coat and mittens and help me start supper."

Elsie felt pleased as she looked up to see her sister giggling. She crossed to the table and gently stroked her sister's straight dark hair, "Don't worry, darling. I won't let her bother you."

Becky held up her picture for Elsie to see. "Pretty. Birds?"

Her sister laughed and shook her head.

"Dogs?"

Her sister nodded eagerly and thrust the paper into Elsie's hands. "I will hang it next to my bed."

Standing at the sink peeling carrots, Amelia smiled as she looked over her shoulder at her daughters. Elsie was so patient with Becky. She had assumed the role of older sister when she was only five, helping Becky clean her teeth, brush her hair and all the other million other tasks most people took for granted. She never said an unkind word to or about Becky. Recently, Amelia's heart had broken when she overheard Elsie turning down an offer from Joe Burn's to attend a local fair because she had already promised Becky she would take her to Loch Awe the same day. Amelia had told her it would be all right to take Becky another day, but Elsie hated the idea of upsetting her sister and stuck to her denial of Joe Burns.

Amelia smiled as she returned her attention to the carrots. Although she sometimes suffered short bouts of melancholy, especially when Becky was having a particularly trying day, she knew that for the most part she was a fortunate woman. Her husband was a kind, hardworking man who didn't drink and attended church with her each Sunday. She had sweet daughters who were devoted to their parents and one another. The forty year old farm wife sighed with contentedness as she peeled the last of her carrots.

Elsie added wood to the fire, wiping dirt and soot onto her apron before pushing a rogue curl behind her ear. She looked over at her older sister, thin and delicate, her face deep in concentration as she drew the pencil across the surface of the paper. She she recalled Joe Burns had visited earlier, asking her to meet him in the village the next day. She turned him down, however, having already promised Becky they would travel down to the lower fields and check on the three month old lambs.

Joe had lost his patience with her, "Elsie, you aren't your sister's keeper. You deserve to have some fun for yourself every once in a while."

"I have fun with Becky, Joe. Besides, she needs me."

"She's eighteen!"

"That isn't fair, Joe. She isn't like other eighteen year olds and you know it."

"Don't let the world pass you by, Elsie Hughes. You'll end up an old maid like your Aunt Josephine."

She felt her cheeks redden. He had gone too far so she had dismissed him with a curt, "Go home, Joe."

He had given her one last pleading look before he mounted his horse and rode off towards his father's farm.

Elsie was brought back from her memory of earlier in the day as Becky made a noise and pointed towards the window.

Elsie crossed to the window, "Someone's coming up the path and it isn't Da."

All three Hughes women moved to the window to see a man approaching on a large black horse. "It's Old Mr. Tucker, " Elsie announced. "I thought Da was over at his farm today, helping mend his bridge?"

Amelia Hughes' stomach flipped over.

Elsie scrambled for any sort of reason for the old man's presence, "Perhaps Da is behind him. Maybe he invited him for supper." She was the first to put on her coat and muffler, running outside to meet the man.

"Your mam here, Miss Elsie?"

"Yes, sir. She is putting on her coat. Where's Da, Mr. Tucker?"

"I had best talk to your mam, Elsie."

Elsie swallowed hard and willed her eyes not to fill with tears. She looked behind her as Mr. Tucker's face registered the arrival of her mother.

"Mrs. Hughes, I am afraid something's happened to Jim."

Becky stayed in the door way, but reached out and took her mother's hand.

"What is it, Mr. Tucker? Jim all right? Do I need to come? Elsie, saddle Brownie."

"No, Mrs. Hughes. You don't need to come. He will be brought here."

"Mr. Tucker, you're scaring me. What has happened?"

The old man removed his hat and the wind whipped over her bald head. "He fell off the bridge and hit his head on a rock, Amelia. I dragged him out of the water, but I am afraid he was already gone."

The old man lowered his head as the new widow let out a piercing wail. Becky wrapped her arms around her mother as Elsie fell to her knees and wretched.

Aunt Josephine arrived a week after the funeral. The weather had already become too treacherous for any of James Hughes' brothers or sisters to make the trek to Argyll. Most of their small village had turned out for the small church service but only Amelia, Elsie, Mr. Tucker and a handful of farmers braved the harsh wind and cold rain to witness the coffin laid in the ground. Unsure how Becky would react to the funeral and burial, they had asked the minister's wife to stay with her. Elsie promised her sister she would take her to the churchyard in the spring so they could leave blue bells and heather on their father's grave

It broke both Amelia and Elsie's heart to watch Becky search for her father throughout the day. She would leave the table at meals and look out the window towards the barn.

"Can't you control her?" Aunt Josephine looked at Amelia exasperated. "I know she isn't right, but you can't just let her wander around like a wild animal during dinner."

Elsie reached over and patted her mother's knee before she crossed the room and gently took Becky by the shoulders. "Come sit down, love. Your stew is getting cold."

It was all Elsie and Amelia could do to tolerate the presence of the hateful old spinster. Josephine had never been kind to James; Amelia thought it fair to say she had treated him with outright malice. His passing, however, had allowed her to fabricate the memory of a wonderful, close relationship with her youngest brother.

"I was more mother than sister, you know." Elsie had heard this claim well over twenty times in the three days that Aunt Josephine had been in their home. She had begun to mouth the words along with her aunt if she was out of her line of sight. Amelia Hughes heard the words but she had long since stopped listening to anything Josephine Hughes had to say.

No recognition that Amelia had lost her husband and that the girls had lost their father was made by the old harridan. Instead, she took it upon herself to criticize Amelia's housekeeping and cooking, comment on Becky's lack of sense and manners and was particularly harsh towards Elsie who she found to be constantly dirty and unkempt.

Someone had to take care of the farm. Elsie took it upon herself to milk the cows and tend the horses, as well as meeting with Mr. Tucker to address what she needed to do about the crops. She did have dirt under her nails and her curls often became matted bits of hay and leaves, but she was so exhausted from her work, she didn't have the energy to change dresses or fix her hair between meals.

Not wanting to upset her mother, Elsie let the words wash over her. After a week, it was Becky who wouldn't stand for her aunt's sniping any longer.

"Elizabeth Cecilia, you offend not only me, but the memory of your father with the way you walk around with your hair in snarls, dirt under your fingernails. You smell like that dank old barn. Have you forgotten you are a young lady?"

Her aunt's back was to Becky who sat on the floor near the fire with a doll. Elsie's eyes widened as Becky suddenly stood and whipped the old woman around by her shoulder, "No! Be nice!"

Elsie reached for her sister's hand. "Shhh…it's all right, darling."

"You really should tie her up if you can't control her."

Becky stepped closer to the old woman and stuck her finger in her face, "NO! You be nice!"

Amelia Hughes had just entered through the backdoor when she saw Josephine Hughes lift her hand and send it flying across Becky's face. She dropped the basket of wash and grabbed the old woman by the sad knot of dull hair at her neck. "Don't you ever lay a hand on one of my children, you old bitch!" She swung the yowling woman around. "You pack your things and get out of my house!"

Elsie wrapped her arms around her sister as Becky's wails filled the room as Josephine hissed, "Amelia Hughes, you have lost your mind?! You have no right…"

"I have every right to throw a disrespectful old cow like you off my farm. You are poison. Is it any wonder none of your kin will let you live with them? Jim always showed you more kindness than you deserved. Now get your things and get out!"

Elsie had stepped up to her mother's side just as Jo raised her hand to slap Amelia. Elsie used her entire weight to plow her shoulder into the bony woman's middle and took her down to the floor.

"Don't you touch my mother!" She placed her hand on the old woman's neck and with a quiet fierceness spoke into the ugly face, "The only one who offends my father's memory is you by disrespecting his family. You heard what she said. Get out of our house."

Elsie felt her mother's hands on her shoulders, pulling her off the old woman.

"I'll go to the law!"

Amelia stepped in front of Elsie, "And tell them what? That you struck Becky Hughes only weeks after her father died? You were rude and inconsiderate to a recently widowed woman and her children? That you ate and slept in their house and allowed them to do your laundry while you didn't lift a finger to help? You go to the law, Josephine. See where it gets you."

The old woman scowled, "My brothers and sisters will hear about this, Amelia!"

"I'll wait for their letters of congratulations. I expect they will be quite disappointed they weren't here to see you get your what for. Now shut your gob and get out of my house!"

Becky had ceased crying, but whimpered as she held her hand on her cheek. Amelia pulled her elder daughter into her arms as Elsie followed her aunt to the bedroom she and Becky normally shared.

"Afraid I'll steal something?" her aunt spat at her. "As if you have anything worth wanting."

"Just get your things and be quick about it."

Her aunt suddenly turned and whined, "I'll freeze if you send me out tonight."

"Good." Elsie lost any pretense of manners when her aunt had struck her sister.

Her aunt's bags packed, Elsie instructed her to wait on the porch while she hitched the horse to the cart. "I'll take you as far as the village. Where you go from there is up to you."

"You ungrateful little wretch."

"I don't have to take you to the village. You can walk the three miles if you don't like my company."

"You are a cold girl, Elsie Hughes. No one will ever love you- cold and saddled with an idiot sister. I have the sight, you know? I have seen what is ahead and you, you little wretch, will be alone for a very long time."

"I don't care if I am alone forever, at least I won't be a hateful old cow like you. Walk to the village and never show your face in Argyll again."

Elsie had almost passed her aunt when a bony hand wrapped around her wrist. "You can't do this."

Forcibly removing her hand from the old woman's grip, Elsie looked into her eyes, "Go to the devil, Aunt Josephine."

Safely inside, Elsie bolted the doorand collapsed against the expanse of oak feeling much older than her sixteen years.

* * *

><p>There was no sign of Josephine Hughes the next morning. The only remnant was an odd accumulation of leaves, thistle, heather and scraps of fabric rolled into a ball and tied with twine. Elsie bent down to observe the mass. She had heard of such a thing but had never actually seen one. There had been talk in her family about Aunt Josephine being a seer, even a witch, but Amelia had always told her daughter there was no truth to the claims, just a comment on Josephine's unfortunate character.<p>

Elsie made a quick trip to the barn and returned with a pitchfork quickly poking a tine through the object and took it inside, thrusting it into the fire.

"What is that?" Her mother crossed from the sink.

"Aunt Jo left us a parting gift it seems- or curse."

Her mother looked over her shoulder as parts of the mass sparked and curled in the fire, "Such a pathetic creature. Make sure the whole thing burns, love."

Her mother kissed her temple and returned to the sink.

It was the next day that the cough started.

Amelia had always suffered from what people called a weak chest. A normal head cold would send her to her bed for days. Elsie was quick to kill and pluck a chicken to get a pot of soup going. She knew her mother would need mustard plasters and steaming cups of mint water to inhale.

Nothing worked. Elsie went through the litany of treatments that had always helped her mother, but the cough seemed to worsen. A fever now accompanied the congestion. The doctor was summoned, but had no more advice than for Elsie to continue with her herbs and poultices.

As Amelia grew sicker, Becky seemed to lose the little bit of vocabulary she possessed. Within two weeks, she no longer spoke at all and refused to get out of bed. It was all Elsie could do to get her to eat and let her give her sponge baths.

Between taking care of her mother, sister and the farm, Elsie was on the verge of collapse. She had lost a dangerous amount of weight and soon noticed her hair had begun to fall out. She had just lain down on a pallet in the floor next to her mother's bed for the first time in twenty hours when she heard her name being whispered.

"I'm here, mam."

"I know you will take care of her. You are such a good girl, Elsie. My good girl. I do love you so."

"Mam?" She wrapped her arms around her mother. Within half an hour her mother's breaths had become quite shallow and erratic. Elsie wrapped her hand around that of her mother and wondered how many times had this hand patted her back or wiped tears from her cheek after she suffered a scraped knee? This was the hand she had held only weeks before as her father had been put into the cold Scottish ground. She was lifting the hand to her cheek when she heard a small gurgle, followed by a small gasp. Her mother's eyes were open but were unseeing.

"Mam? Oh, Mam!" Elsie pulled her mother's tiny frame tightly against hers body. "What am I going to do?" Elsie rocked back and forth, her tears falling into her mother's hair.

* * *

><p>The minister's wife had agreed to sit with Becky while Elsie went to the village for her mother's funeral. She saw many of the same sad faces that had attended her father's funeral only months before. She was surprised to see Miss Brown across the sanctuary. The school teacher had always been kind and complimentary to Elsie whom she considered quite bright. Elsie told herself she must make a point of thanking the teacher for taking the time to attend the funeral. Joe was there, too. He stood at the back of the room, his hat in his hands.<p>

She was oddly grateful that their minister was suffering from a twisted ankle after a fall on a patch of ice. The substitute minister hadn't known Elsie's mother or father and his impersonal service allowed Elsie to maintain her composure as the sole representative of her family. Amelia Hughes had no brothers and sisters and the weather was still substantially treacherous enough to keep any of her father's side of the family from attending.

Joe was heading her way when she decided to walk over to Miss Brown just after the graveside service had finished. The weather had been kind and a warm sun shone on the still churchyard, brightly reflecting off the blanket of snow from the previous night's storm.

"Miss Brown?"

The petite middle aged woman turned to her, "Good morning, Elsie. I am so very sorry for your loss."  
>"Thank you, Miss Brown. It was very kind of you to attend the funeral."<p>

"How is your sister?"  
>Elsie felt a lump building in her throat, "Not well, I am afraid. She has stopped talking and doesn't like to get out of bed."<p>

"Oh dear."

"I don't think she understands why Mam and Da are gone. I'm not sure I do, either." Elsie lost her battle with the lump in her throat and tears began to slide down her face. "I'm sorry, Miss Brown."

The teacher reached over and put an arm around her shoulders, "You need not apologize to me, Elsie. You are very brave lass."

Elsie struggled to breathe as a sob stuck in her throat.

"Let's go to the school. No one is there. I will make you a cup of tea."

Elsie's body racked with sobs as she followed the teacher across the road to the small school house. She didn't see Joe Burns following behind them.

She managed to regain control and was only sniffling at a desk in the front row when the teacher brought her a cup of tea and a biscuit. "Thank you, miss."  
>The teacher gave her a warm smile. "Do you know what happens now?"<br>"Now that I don't have any parents?" It was an honest response, not at all snippy in tone.

"Yes. What happens with the farm and with your sister?"

Elsie shook her head and felt as if a tremendous weight had been placed upon her shoulders. "I don't know. I suppose I have to sell the farm. My father has three brothers and three sisters, but they all have their own families."

Miss Brown patted her hand and sighed. "You are a bright girl, Elsie. You could get a job."

"What kind of job? I left school at eleven to help Da with the farm and to help with Becky. I couldn't be a teacher like you."  
>Elsie had been on Miss Brown's mind since she heard about the death of Amelia Hughes. She wanted to offer the young woman any help she could and had given great thought to the sort of future Elsie might have. "What about service?"<p>

"Be a maid?"

"As I said, you are bright, not to mention hard working. You could start out as a housemaid, but I am sure you could work your way up quickly. Your maths were always good. I could give you a book that would allow you to practice. Room and board would be provided. I have a sister who just became the housekeeper of a large house in Yorkshire. I am sure she would assist in finding you a position."

"But Becky? What do I do about Becky?"

"I hope I am not speaking out of turn, Elsie, but I have heard that Joe Burns is sweet on you. You are young, but not so young that you couldn't marry."

Elsie instantly knew she could not marry Joe. "I do not love Joe Burns, Miss Brown. I don't think it would be fair to him to be his wife and not be able to love him."

Miss Brown had always admired Elsie's honesty.

"I see. I do know there are homes, nursing homes, that would take Becky, but they cost money, Elsie."

"The sale of the farm could pay for that."

"For a while," her teacher agreed, "but not forever."

Elsie thought for a moment. She knew she didn't have the luxury of time to make these decisions. Miss Brown watched the pretty face of her former student struggle with matters that would be daunting for anyone of any age, much less a sixteen year old farm girl.

Elsie suddenly looked up, "But if I got a job in a good house, I could pay for the nursing home out of my wages once the farm money ran out, couldn't I?"

"I suppose you could."

Elsie had slept little the night before; her mind had whirred with grief and fear. This suggestion from Miss Brown had given her the first tiny bit of hope she had experienced in weeks. She took a deep breath and made her decision.

"Would you write to your sister for me, Miss Brown? Please tell her I am a hard worker and I am willing to learn anything."

Miss Brown squeezed her hand, "I will write her now."

"Oh, thank you, Miss! Thank you ever so much!"

Elsie gave the older woman a bright smile before she left the school house and was making her way towards the road when a hand reached out and took her arm.

"Joe Burns, you scared me."

"Sorry, Elsie. I just wanted to say I am very sorry about your mam."

"Thank you, Joe. That is very kind."

"I also wanted to ask you something."

Elsie felt her stomach churn. "Oh, Joe. Can it wait? I have to make a few stops before I go home to relieve Mrs. McNally."

"I think my question might save you from making your stops."

Elsie knew there was no escape. "What is it, Joe?  
>Joe took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, "I know I am only eighteen and you sixteen, but I know about farms. Almost as much as you do." He looked up and smiled at her. She returned the smile.<p>

"I talked to my Da and he said he would help us. I think we should be married. I can run the farm and you can take care of Becky. This solves all your problems, Elsie."

Elise bit her bottom lip. It was a solution to some of her problems, but the fact that she did not love Joe Burns was ever present in her mind. She would rather hurt him now with her denial than begin an unhappy life borne out of necessity.

"You are a good, kind lad, Joe Burns, and you will make some lass very happy. I just don't think I am that lass." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "I do appreciate the offer, Joe. "

"But what will you do, Elsie? You can't run the farm on your own."

"I'll take care of myself, Joe. And I'll take care of Becky. Mam said she knew I would and so I will." Her voice broke a little as she mentioned her mother.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head with a sad smile as she walked away.

She didn't look back at Joe as she made her way to Brownie, the old horse she had ridden every day of her life since she was five. He would be part of the sale to Mr. Tucker she was on her way to arrange.

* * *

><p>Within two weeks, Elsie Hughes was offered a position as house maid at the Dower House in a village called Downton in Yorkshire. Elsie took Becky to a home in Lytham St. Anne's two days before she was to report for work. Becky had slept for most of the train and boat journeys while Elsie found it impossible to sleep. Watching her pretty sister sleep, she wondered from where she would divine the courage to leave Becky at the home next day.<p>

Becky was quiet and behaved as she held Elsie's hand during their departure from the boat. She remained quiet as they took a cart to the large white stone house in which she would spend the rest of her life. The man who greeted them at the door seemed kind and Elsie was comforted to see that the various patients they encountered seemed clean and content. They reached a small, white room with a bed and a small dresser in the corner. Elsie avoided looking at Becky by quickly unpacking her favorite doll, the quilt their mother had made her when she was eight, as well as a photo of their parents and Elsie herself. She tried to hide her tears from her sister, but lost any control she had over emotions when Becky suddenly crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her younger sister's neck.

"I love you, Becky," she managed to whisper through her sobs.

Becky loosened her embrace and pulled back from Elsie, offering a sweet smile. It was more emotion than Becky had shown in months.

"I will come and see you as soon as I can and I will write you letters. They said they would read you my letters," Elsie pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes and blew her nose, " I have left postage money so you can draw me pictures and they will send them to me."

Becky continued to smile. Elsie had just taken Becky's hand when a nurse entered, "Now, Miss Becky, I am Sister Munday. I heard you have made a journey across the sea. I think it best if we get you ready for a little nap, what do you say?"

Elsie was surprised when Becky removed her hand from her grasp, sitting on the bed and lifting her foot to have her boot removed. Elsie moved to take off Becky's boot, but the nurse put a hand on her arm and quietly offered, "I know it is hard, love, but it is best to just go now. I'll take good care of her. "

Turning towards the door, Elsie bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to hold her mounting tears at bay. She forced herself to look over her shoulder, "Goodbye, darling."

Becky didn't look at her, keeping her eyes on the smiling face of the nurse who removed her boots. Elsie took a deep breath and walked out of the room. She had to will herself not to turn back with each step she took.

She managed to make it to her room at a small inn near the train station before she began weeping.

She woke up early the next morning, hours before her 10:05 train. She paid for her room and made her way to a small café inside the train station. She bought a cup of tea and sliver of cake. She closed her eyes and made a wish before taking her first bite of cake.

It was her seventeenth birthday.

* * *

><p><strong>I know...not so much good times for our Elsie. I promise to post the second chapter before the day is out. Much thanks for taking the time to read, lovelies!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Story was edited 1/15/15.**

**1905**

The offer had come quite unexpectedly. It was common knowledge that Mrs. Sullivan, the housekeeper of Downton Abbey, had a sister whose health was quite poorly. An affliction involving her nervous system now affected her ability to walk or feed herself. Mrs. Sullivan had no choice but to retire and move to Harrogate in order to care for her widowed sister.

Elsie Hughes had a cordial enough relationship with Mrs. Sullivan, their paths crossing at church and sporadically in the village. She, of all people, knew what it was to have an infirm sister and her empathy ran deep for the woman.

Elsie, now addressed as Mrs. Hughes, had served as dual lady's maid and housekeeper at Dower House for ten years, surviving a rather tempestuous two years when both living dowagers, Lady Agatha Crawley and the newly widowed Lady Violet Crawley, had shared the house. Lady Agatha was primarily bedridden during this time, a nurse constantly by her side, this however, didn't keep Violet Crawley from resenting the old woman's presence in what she considered to be her house.

It was a credit to Mrs. Hughes' patience and disposition that during this time she hadn't left her post given how incredibly difficult it had been to deal with Violet Crawley. Mrs. Hughes had been careful to remind herself that the woman was grieving the loss of her husband, and perhaps even more so the loss of her position as the Lady of the house at Downton Abbey. It had to be difficult to watch the lovely and vivacious American Cora Levinson Crawley assume not only her title, but control over the well-respected house. She took the harsh words and knit-picking in her stride, while doing her best to shield the rest of the staff from Violet Crawley's wrath. Mrs. Hughes wouldn't admit it aloud, but it had been a blessing when the older Dowager slipped away in her sleep, at rest from physical pain and the disparaging company of her daughter-in-law.

It was Mrs. Hughes' perseverance and positive attitude that had resulted in the offer to take over for Mrs. Sullivan as head housekeeper of Downton Abbey. Cora had always found the Scottish woman a bright spot among the drab atmosphere of Dower House. She knew it would be a blow to Sarah O'Brien not to be promoted from lady's maid to housekeeper, but Mrs. Hughes was at least five years older and had taken care of the household accounts at Dower House for several years. She also knew that her mother-in-law would never admit it, but was quite pleased with Mrs. Hughes' work at Dower House. Upsetting Violet by stealing away Mrs. Hughes was a small victory for the American who found herself the primary target of the Dowager's ire.

Cora Crawley held out high hopes that Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson would complement each other as housekeeper and butler. Mrs. Sullivan had chosen to always take the path of least resistance and deferred to Mr. Carson in all matters. Cora secretly hoped the cheerful Mrs. Hughes would stand up to the butler and challenge his rather severe, and as far as Cora was concerned, sometimes antiquated views.

More than once she had witnessed the butler react more harshly towards a member of staff than she deemed necessary. Her concerns, however, fell on deaf ears when mentioned to her husband as Robert Crawley trusted the butler's judgment implicitly.

She had seen Carson lower his guard on occasion, particularly when he was interacting with her children. Her eldest daughter Mary was particularly drawn to him. He never lost his sense of propriety when around the girls, but did somehow soften. Having witnessed a particularly sweet exchange between Carson and the girls in the form of a tea party, she had confided in her husband, "It's nice to know Carson is a real person, Robert. I was beginning to wonder if there was a heart inside the morning suit."

The timing of the offer to become housekeeper couldn't have been more perfect. Mrs. Hughes had watched the account that held the farm money dwindle to almost nothing just after the turn of the century. She would have to approach the Dowager about a raise in wage if she was to keep Becky in the same nursing home; even a generous raise would leave her a few pounds short each month. The substantial increase in salary as housekeeper of Downton Abbey would allow her to pay for Becky's nursing home and have just enough money left to keep her wardrobe up to date and respectable given her new title.

She was a little leery of the large, stern butler that ran Downton Abbey. More than one housemaid had told her of his penchant for perfection and propriety at all times. Elsie Hughes had no qualm with hard work and professionalism, however, her mother had deeply instilled within her the Golden Rule and she felt it only right to afford everyone respect and kindness as she, in turn, expected to be afforded. If perfection or propriety had to be mildly compromised for the sake of someone's feelings, so be it.

The night before she was to report to Downton Abbey, she stood behind the Dowager Countess and nimbly plaited the older woman's ginger hair tinged with silver. "I want you to know I only relented to Robert's wish to take you from me because I know you will stand up to the American and any whims she has regarding the running of Downton."

Mrs. Hughes focused on tying up the end of the plait as she bit her lip in amusement the Dowager's reference to her daughter in law as "the American" rather than "Cora" or "Lady Grantham." Mrs. Hughes couldn't imagine the "whims" to which the Dowager referred. "Yes, milady."

"Carson is a good man. You will have a solid ally in him, Mrs. Hughes. Truth be told, I have more trust in Carson than Robert when it comes to the success and survival of Downton." The Dowager was quick to follow with, "I know that is a terrible thing for a mother to say and I will call you a liar if you ever repeat it."

"I would never, milady."

Violet Crawley looked at the housekeeper's reflection in the mirror for more than a moment, "I know that, my dear. I think of all your many qualities, secret keeping may be chief."

Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure if the comment was a compliment, but she decided to take it as one. "Thank you, milady. Is there anything else you need tonight?"

"I've my hot water bottle and you've stoked the fire. I believe you have taken care of my needs, Mrs. Hughes. Now get a good night's sleep. You have quite a day ahead of you tomorrow."

Mrs. Hughes was almost to the door when the Dowager called out to her, "Oh, I forgot. I have something for you." The older woman opened a drawer in her vanity and withdrew a small box. "You deserve this. You don't need to open it here. Good night."

Mrs. Hughes took the box and gave the Dowager Countess a smile and thanked her before wishing her a final, "Good night." Tucking the box into her skirt pocket, she left the room to begin a last tour of the house to extinguish any remaining candles and gas fixtures before she made her way to her own small room in the attic. She quickly plaited her own hair and slipped into her nightgown, pulling the box from her skirt pocket just before climbing into bed.

Removing the lid from the box, she carefully drew back delicate paper to discover an ornate chatelaine. Elsie felt tears well up in her eyes. The Dowager was certainly not one for flowery compliments, well any sort of compliments, but in gifting the heavy silver chatelaine, she had finally demonstrated that not only could she could show appreciation, but that she would quite miss Elsie Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes smiled through her tears, "Oh, you funny old bat." She quickly dried her eyes and blew out the candle as she waited for sleep to carry her to dawn and the beginning of her new life at Downton Abbey.

* * *

><p>She had assured Lord Grantham she could easily walk from Dower House to Downton Abbey that morning having only two small bags accompanying her, but he had insisted on sending the cart and two footmen to assist her. She found herself growing angry as the two young footmen exchanged silly grins and snuck looks at the attractive new housekeeper. Although closer to forty than thirty, she knew she had maintained a trim, attractive figure and was quite a bit younger than the newly retired Mrs. Sullivan. These facts, however, did not give the young men license to act this way in her presence.<p>

"Did you giggle when you accompanied Mrs. Sullivan to the train station yesterday?" Her words were sharp.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, Mrs. Hughes."

"I am going to give you two options. You may either let it sink into your thick heads that I am now the housekeeper of Downton Abbey and therefore deserve your respect, or you may carry on like silly school boys and upon arriving at our destination, I will step off this cart and report your behavior directly to Mr. Carson. What will it be?"  
>The young men immediately looked at their feet as their ears turned quite a severe shade of red.<p>

"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes."

"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes."

She felt a surge of confidence and pulled her shoulders back, "Very well. We shall not speak of it again."

They were soon deposited in the yard at the back of the house. Mr. Carson stood erect at the back door, his hands clasped behind his back.

He had occasionally crossed paths with the housekeeper of Dower House at church, but had been too preoccupied with policing the behavior of his own staff to pay her much mind. She had spent time with Mrs. Sullivan over the last week, but they had primarily stayed in the housekeeper's sitting room or had been out of sight as they toured the various floors of the house. He had been too preoccupied with visiting guests to spend any time with her. Watching her climb down from the cart, he noticed she was much prettier and had a much more voluptuous figure than he remembered. He shook the thought out of his head and plastered on a polite, but measured smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Hughes."

"Good morning, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes turned to thank the driver as Mr. Carson directed the boys to leave Mrs. Hughes' bags in her sitting room. He would have a housemaid deliver them to her bedroom on the women's corridor.

"I trust your trip over was a pleasant one."

"Yes, Mr. Carson. Thank you. It was kind of his lordship to send over the cart. I could have walked."

"Well, you are here now and there is plenty to do. I suggest you drop your hat and coat in your sitting room and gather your maids. I am afraid they have taken license what with not having a housekeeper for the first few hours of the morning and you are already behind. Here are your keys."

As he thrust the heavy ring of keys into her hand, she realized that while only having spent a short amount of time with him, she quite despised the man with whom she would be spending the foreseeable future.

She gritted her teeth, "Thank you, Mr. Carson. I will attend to them directly." With a tight smile, she gave him a nod and quickened her pace, her coat and hat were hung on pegs in her sitting room and she was halfway to the gallery by the time Mr. Carson reached the kitchen.

"Was that our new housekeeper or a shooting star?" Mrs. Patmore crossed to the corridor where Mr. Carson stood, noting his red cheeks and neck.

The butler turned his head as if his collar were too tight, "I wouldn't get too attached, Mrs. Patmore. I don't know if she is quite housekeeper material. We will have to wait and see."

"The Dowager kept her on."

"As I said, we shall wait and see."

Mrs. Patmore watched Mr. Carson take the servant's stairs two at a time. "You mean she's too pretty to be housekeeper material, you old goat." Mrs. Patmore smiled before turning back to the kitchen, "Mabel, the raspberry torte won't make itself!"

Mrs. Hughes finally retreated to her bedroom at two o'clock that morning. She had spent the hours between midnight and two locating the previous week's receipts. They had mysteriously made their way under the coal box next to the fireplace in her sitting room. Her keys had also been labeled incorrectly, as well as half the beds in the guest rooms short sheeted. It had prevented her from partaking in both the servant's lunch, but she had managed to check and remake every bed that was to be occupied by a guest or family member. She spent the dinner service testing the lock of each door in the house and assigning the key a letter and number correlating to a code which only she could follow.

Mr. Carson had made a point of stopping and watching her at various times throughout the day. He never uttered a word, but simply followed her every move. She found his presence unnerving and undermining.

She hadn't even had time to unpack by the time she pressed her day dress for the next day and took a quick sponge bath at her wash stand. She decided it would be detrimental to report the receipts, keys and sheets to Mr. Carson. He would simply deem her incapable of doing the job and tell his Lordship as much.

She tried to ignore her growling stomach as she blew out the candle next to her bed and slipped her feet under her sheet and counterpane. She had only pushed her feet halfway down the bed when she felt a strange sensation against her skin.

She quickly relit her candle and threw the covers back. A heavy sprinkling of what appeared to be dried bread crumbs, dirt, and pebbles covered the entire bottom sheet.

Tears streamed down her face as she carefully drew the sheet up into a ball and deposited the littered linen on the floor. She lay the thick counterpane on the mattress, the sheet on top of that. She pulled on her dressing gown and blew out the candle before sliding under the sheet. She forced herself to think of Becky and how happy she had been on Elsie's last visit. It was vital she remain at the home.

Her tears having finally ceased, her thoughts drifted to Joe Burns and she wondered what woman was now curled up against his warm body across the sea.

* * *

><p>Making his way towards his pantry early the next morning, Mr. Carson was surprised to see light coming from the housekeeper's sitting room as he made his way towards the kitchen.<p>

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes."

She looked up from her ledger, there was no hiding her swollen eyes, as well as the tired bags that accompanied them, but she was determined to greet him with a bright smile. "Good morning, Mr. Carson."

"I hope we will be treated to your company at this morning's breakfast. We were surprised not to see you at lunch or dinner yesterday."

"I am very much looking forward to sharing breakfast with the staff this morning. I am sorry to have missed meals yesterday. Mrs. Sullivan was kind and thorough, but there were a few unexpected details to which I had to attend."

"I see. I hope today is more productive for you, Mrs. Hughes." He didn't smile before turning and leaving her alone.

"I made eighteen beds, turned a key in every lock in the house and corrected the accounts that were kept by a woman who apparently couldn't count past five. I don't know how, barring building a pyramid, I could be more productive," she whispered to no one in particular.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes before looking down at her chatelaine. "Who would have thought I would miss you, you old bat?"

Hearing voices and footsteps in the hall, she made her way towards the servant's hall.

She laid eyes on the two footmen who had accompanied her from Dower House first. They immediately lowered their heads and busied themselves with their already fastened buttons. Housemaids Gretchen and Joyce looked at her and then quickly at one another as they fought to stifle giggles. Sarah O'Brien, her ladyship's maid, looked over her shoulder but stared straight though her as if she wasn't occupying space in the doorway.

She quickly made her way to the seat next to Lord Grantham's valet Adams.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. I am afraid I didn't have the chance to welcome you properly yesterday. We've met at church. I am Lord Grantham's valet Adams."

Mrs. Hughes'voice was strong and clear, "I appreciate your welcome, Mr. Adams. It is by far the kindest I have received since I arrived."

Mr. Carson stood just outside the doorway as Mrs. Hughes spoke to Mr. Adams. The entire room had grown silent. He felt a twinge of guilt as he was unable to think of one bit of kindness he had offered her since her arrival.

The staff stood at attention as Mr. Carson entered the dining hall. "Good morning, everyone. I would like to take this opportunity to formally welcome our new housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes. First days being busy ones, she was unable to join us for lunch or dinner yesterday, but I am sure you will all join me in letting her know how pleased we are to have her with us." The staff offered a weak round of applause; Sarah O'Brien didn't even bother to lift her hands out of her lap.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I appreciate your kind words." As Mr. Carson sat, she instinctively retrieved a piece of toast and buttered it before placing it on his plate.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson looked at her in surprise.

"Tea, Mr. Carson?" She placed a quarter inch of milk in his cup before adding tea. "No sugar, is that right?"

"It is." He looked at her in astonishment. "How did you know?"

"You shared tea with Mr. Spratt the last time you accompanied his Lordship to Dower House."

"That was months ago."

She only offered a polite smile and attended to her own tea. She peripherally noted the angry glare on the face of Sara O'Brien.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Patmore stood in the door way to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room at half past ten, a tray laid with teapot, cups and biscuits in her hands. "I was hoping you might have a moment."<p>

"Oh, Mrs. Patmore, please come in." Mrs. Hughes was pleased to see the little red ginger cook. She had always enjoyed exchanging pleasantries with Mrs. Patmore when they met in the village. She offered a bright smile, "Of course. I was hoping we would have a chance to visit today. I apologize for neglecting you yesterday."

"Not at all, Mrs. Hughes. First days are always hectic…," she looked up at the housekeeper's face, "…and trying."

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, not at all. I just know how nasty that particular piece of work can be. What did she do to you?" Mrs. Patmore's eyes lit up.  
>"You mean Miss O'Brien, I take it?"<br>"Of course. She is a horrid thing. I would be lying if I made her out to be anything else. She was fit to be tied when her Ladyship announced you were to be the new housekeeper and not her. So, what mischief did she cause?"  
>"She couldn't have carried it all out on her own, Mrs. Patmore."<p>

"She sneaks cigarettes to the housemaids Gretchen and Joyce. I am sure they did her bidding."  
>Mrs. Hughes shook her head in dismay, "They earned their cigarettes. They short sheeted half the guest beds, all my keys were mislabeled, the week's receipts were hidden under the coal box and my own bed was littered with bread crumbs, dirt and stones."<p>

"Goodness, they got you good and then some, Mrs. Hughes."

"I didn't expect the welcome wagon, Mrs. Patmore, but I think I would have received a kinder reception in a lion's den. Oh, speaking of which, Mr. Carson wants me here as much O'Brien does."

"Oh, I can tell you why that is." Mrs. Patmore took a sip of tea.

"I wish you would. I don't mind being chastised for making real mistakes, but being told I am already behind in my duties before I darken the door seems a little much."

"Have you noticed anything about the housemaids and lady's maids, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes thought for a moment. She recalled each woman and thought their primary correlation lie in their being tall, boney, flat-chested and rather homely in the face. She was too kind to voice such a judgment.

"I am afraid I don't know, Mrs. Patmore."

"You do. You're just too kind to say it. They all have match sticks for figures and ugly faces with tiny eyes and big noses."

Mrs. Hughes had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

"I knew you noticed. Mrs. Sullivan always let Mr. Carson have the final say in the hiring of the female staff. He never hires the pretty maids. He always picks the homely ones. He won't be tempted that way, you see."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't believe her ears, "You are saying Mr. Carson doesn't like me because I am not a matchstick? You've curves, does he like you?"

Mrs. Patmore laughed, "I was here as a scullery maid before Mr. Carson was even a footman at Dowton. He wouldn't look at me twice, Mrs. Hughes. But I saw him just after you arrived yesterday. His face was flushed and he didn't look half off kilter. I think you reminded him of something he has tried to forget."

"And what is that, Mrs. Patmore?"

"That he is a man, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes blushed as she drained her tea cup.

"By the way, Mrs. Hughes, I wanted to speak with you about getting a copy of the store cupboard key…."

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went fairly smoothly. She made a point of keeping a strict eye on the housemaids, as well as Sarah O'Brien. She had locked the door to her bedroom after making up her bed with clean sheets early that morning. Her own sitting room door remained locked when she was not on the servant's floor.<p>

She had met Mr. Carson occasionally in a corridor, but he refrained from monitoring her work as he had the day before. He met her in the middle of the servant's staircase just after the evening gong was run.

"Good evening, Mr. Carson."

"Mrs. Hughes. I trust your second day is running quite smoothly. All appearances suggest it."

"Yes, Mr. Carson, thank you." she smiled politely. "I am meeting with her Ladyship to discuss next week's tea. Do you have any messages you would like me to relate to her?"

"Thank you, but I can't think of anything, Mrs. Hughes. We can discuss the tea in detail later."

"Very good, Mr. Carson. I'll get on, then."

He gave her a polite nod and continued on to the kitchen. He was almost to his pantry when he heard Mrs. Patmore's voice, "May I have a word, Mr. Carson?"  
>He motioned her into his pantry, surprised when she closed the door behind her. "It's about Mrs. Hughes…"<p>

* * *

><p>O'Brien didn't hide her dismay as Mrs. Hughes knocked and entered her Ladyship's dressing room. "Good evening, milady. You wished to discuss next week's tea?"<p>

"Mrs. Hughes, good evening. I would, but please tell me about your first days at Downton."

Mrs. Hughes smiled warmly at the pretty woman, "Yesterday was a whirlwind, but I feel like I have my bearings today."

"And everyone has been kind and respectful?"

Mrs. Hughes felt O'Brien's eyes on her.

"Very much so, milady. I couldn't have asked for a nicer reception from Mr. Carson and the entire staff."

O'Brien's mouth fell open.

Cora Crawley turned to offer her maid a smile of appreciation, but was struck by the woman's countenance, "Are you all right, O'Brien?"

O'Brien quickly shut her mouth before replying, "Yes, milady."

"Good. Now the tea, Mrs. Hughes…"

* * *

><p>Mr. Carson felt angry and guilty as he watched Mrs. Patmore depart from his office. Hidden receipts, mislabeled keys, short sheeted beds, not to mention littering her bed with dirt and bread crumbs; it was a wonder the woman hadn't departed in the night after such terrible and uncalled for treatment. He himself hadn't helped matters by telling her she was behind in her work before she even had the chance to take off her coat and hat. And how had she reacted? She had remade all the beds by herself, managed to correct the key labels, stayed up half the night locating the receipts and was still up before him after only a few hours sleep in what must have been an unmade bed, all of this on top of it being her first day of work in a strange house. He felt sick at the thought of what he and members of the staff, particularly Miss O'Brien, had put her through.<p>

He suddenly remembered that Mrs. Hughes was meeting with Lady Grantham. Cora Crawley would certainly tell her husband of the trials Mrs. Hughes had encountered. He had no defense. He would simply own up to his unkindnesses.

Cora Crawley, dressed for dinner, was approaching the library as Mr. Carson suddenly met her just outside the door. "Could I possibly have a brief word, your ladyship?"

Mrs. Crawley smiled, "Of course, Mr. Carson. I actually wanted a word with you."

They stepped into the breakfast room. Lady Grantham began to speak before he had the chance, "I just wanted to thank you for assuring Mrs. Hughes had a warm welcome upon her arrival yesterday. I was concerned that O'Brien in particular would be less than kind; I know she was disappointed when she wasn't promoted. Mrs. Hughes was very complimentary of you and the staff. "

Mr. Carson looked at her with disbelief, "She…she was?"

Lady Grantham gave him an odd look, "Yes, very. What is it Carson? You look quite shocked."

" No, no, not at all, milady."

She continued to give him a puzzled look, "You had something to tell me, Carson?"  
>"I…well, I was just going to relate that Mrs. Hughes was settling in quite nicely and appears to be quite an asset to the staff."<p>

"Well, great minds, Carson. I am glad you are pleased with her. Shall we return to the library?"

"Yes, milady."

* * *

><p>The house was mostly quiet, after-dinner entertaining had ended and most of the staff and family had gone to bed. Mr. Carson was making his way towards his pantry for a small sherry when he noticed light coming from Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. He lightly rapped on the door as he stepped inside the doorway, "I don't mean to disturb you."<p>

"Not at all, Mr. Carson. How may I help you?"

"I wanted to know if you would be interested in sharing a sherry before bed?"

Mrs. Hughes smiled warmly. "What a kind offer. That would be lovely, Mr. Carson."

He watched her carefully mark a spot in her ledger and rise to join him. He noted that the neckline of her dress seemed higher and her hair was pulled back more severely than it had been earlier in the day. These adjustments didn't, however, detract from her attractiveness. He made a conscious effort to focus on the area of her forehead just above her eyebrows. It would be a practice he would maintain for many years to come.

Mrs. Hughes followed the butler into his pantry, taking the chair he offered near the fire.

"I owe you an apology, Mrs. Hughes." He handed her a small glass of amber liquid and took the seat opposite her.

"You do, Mr. Carson?"  
>"Yes. I am afraid your arrival coincided with my being in a particularly bad humor. You deserved a kinder welcome."<p>

"Change is a trying thing, Mr. Carson. I appreciate your apology, but it is quite unnecessary."

"You have every right to sack O'Brien and whoever assisted her in her actions."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Carson."

He looked at her in surprise, "But Mrs. Patmore said…"

"Mrs. Patmore is a kind woman, although I think she is a quite upset with me for not agreeing to make her a copy of the storage cupboard key."

"She knows she has no right to a copy of that key."

"She also knows she isn't getting one. It is in hand, Mr. Carson."

He smiled in appreciation of Mrs. Hughes' simple statement of command.

"So you don't wish to pursue any punishment of O'Brien."

"As I said, I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Carson."

He tried to read her expression, but she hid her feelings masterfully. It was a skill he we would come to both admire and resent in the years to come.

"And if I were to say something to Miss O'Brien?"  
>"As the housekeeper, I appreciate that you are conferring with me before you talk with a member of the female staff. If you know of something about which she needs to be corrected, please feel free to speak with her."<p>

"Very good, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson took a sip of his sherry,enjoying the idea of giving Miss O'Brien her what for in the morning. He smiled at Mrs. Hughes and briefly looked into her eyes before shifting his gaze above her eyebrows, "I think we shall work quite well together."

"I do hope so, Mr. Carson."

The butler and housekeeper finished the first of what would be many late night glasses of sherry.

* * *

><p><strong>It feels like it could end here, but I think I will keep going to cover more of their history...<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

** 1920**

A Saturday night with all of the family and much of the staff gone, it was a rare opportunity for Mrs. Hughes to indulge in a long hot bath.

Fantasies or memories, these were what she tried to devote her mind to when afforded a small reprieve from the world such as this. Her mind wandered to a particularly special summer day when she was twelve. She had recently started her monthly courses and it had upset her. Her mother, mindful of her strong, but sensitive daughter, had arranged for her husband to spend the afternoon with Becky so she and Elsie could be alone.

"A picnic, just you and me," her mother had suggested. Mam often took her and Becky on picnics when the weather was pretty, feeling more at ease with Becky running free in the outdoors if Elsie was there to keep up with her. But a picnic for just she and mam, this was very special. Elsie certainly knew she was loved by both her parents, but Becky's condition and the needs of the farm tended to supersede Elsie being the center of either of her parents' attention.

It was a bright sunny day and Da had taken Becky with him to see the sheep and their lambs in the lower fields, while Elsie and her mam made their way to a particularly lovely meadow about a mile from the farm.

Elsie happily carried the hand woven basked knowing it contained thick slices of ham and fresh bread, along with two bright red apples and a jar of piccalilli. She looked on proudly as her mother carried the brightly colored rag quilt they had made when she was seven. It had been an exercise to help Elsie learn various stitches, as well as to measure and piece. The result was known as the "barmy rainbow." Elsie had made two other quilts that were technically more impressive than this, but the precious time her mother had spent with her in the making of it made it her prized possession.

"How about here, love?" Her mother had stopped in a shady spot just inside the meadow. Elsie shook her head in agreement, setting down her basket so she could help her mother spread out the colorful quilt. They unpacked their feast and settled down, removing their shoes, giggling as they wiggled their toes in the summer air.

They had nibbled on ham and bread, pointing out clouds in familiar shapes in the sky; getting tickled by one that mam said looked like a pig doing a jig.

As they continued to gaze, Elsie began building her courage to ask her mother why they were on this picnic. "Mam?"

"What, love?" Her mother took a bit of apple.

"Why did you bring just me today?"

Elsie's mother didn't take her eyes off the pretty face of her daughter as she placed her apple in her lap. She chewed quickly and explained, "I wanted to spend time with just you, Elsie."

Her mother's words made her smile, but she knew there had to be more reason behind their outing."

"I have something for you, love."

Elsie watched as her mother fished a carefully folded handkerchief out of her pocket. "My mam gave this to me and her mam gave it to her and so on, back to your great-great grandmother Ann Alexander." She unfolded the cloth to reveal a delicate silver band composed of tiny silver leaves.

"It's lovely, Mam."

"It is yours, my darling."

Elsie looked at her puzzled.

Her mother smiled as she explained, "Each woman in my family has passed it on to her daughter when she entered womanhood." Mam reached over and gently took Elsie's hand, sliding the delicate band onto her left ring finger. "You wear this until you meet the man whose ring you want to take its place.

Elsie stared at the ring, suddenly looking up, "That's why I have never seen you wear it? Because you chose to wear Da's ring in place of it?"

"Yes," Her mother smiled warmly as they both looked at the simple brass band that adorned her mother's left hand.

Mam continued to hold her hand as she took a deep breath, "Your bosom is coming in, love. I am sure you have noticed, and I am sure you have noticed other changes in how your body looks." With her other hand she lifted her daughter's chin. "I want you to always remember that it is a wonderful thing to be a woman."

Elsie felt her hands begin to sweat.

"We should have had this talk last summer, but I thought we had more time. You are developing earlier than Becky did. I dare say you will have more of a womanly shape than she does. You take after my side of the family, she takes after Da's."

Elsie thought about this. It was true; Becky was tall and lean with small breasts and narrow hips like Aunt Connie and Aunt Josephine. Elsie, on the other hand, had a definite curve from her waist to her hip and she had already let out the seams in a few of her shirtwaists to accommodate her budding chest. She looked at her mother's figure, full breasts and round hips. Would she look like that? She couldn't imagine having such large breasts.

Her mother noticed her looking, "You won't have to worry about that until you have bairns, Elsie."

Elsie blushed, but let out a small grin, "Thank goodness for that."

Her mother laughed and her face relaxed into a gentle smile as she asked, "You know that is why you started your courses, the bleeding last week? It is your body preparing itself to have bairns."

Elsie suddenly felt lightheaded. She had heard some of the girls at school talk about babies and how they were made, and she certainly knew what cattle, sheep and horses did prior to the females becoming pregnant, but she had never let herself think about it in terms of people.

"Mam," she shyly began, "the girls at school…they said…but I don't think…"

Her mother bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. "What did they say, love?"

She hesitated, unable to say the words she had heard at school and decided on a different approach, "Well, you have to have a mam and a da to make a bairn, don't you?"

"It does take a mam and a da…Elsie, you have seen the cattle and horses, and plenty of sheep breed."

"Where the male climbs up on the back of the female?"

"Yes."

Elsie's eyes got very big. "A da climbs on the back of a mam?!"

Her mother couldn't hold in her amusement, "No darling," she laughed, "it is different with people. It is…" her mother searched for an appropriate word, "…nicer."

"But the da and mam touch each other?"

"They do."

Elsie closed her eyes, "Do they touch," she whispered the next word, "bottoms?"

Her mother pinched her leg hard to keep from embarrassing her daughter by laughing any more. "You know the part of a bull that hangs down between his legs?"

Elsie opened one eye and nodded.

Well, I know you have seen Mrs. Pendleton's little Liam without a nappy so you know he has a baby boy one."

Elsie stomach dropped. She didn't like where this was going at all.

"I know. The da has one." She would never admit it, but she had once seen her father bathing in a stream after a hot summer's day work.

"Yes, love."

She blushed a deep red as all the pieces fit together. She pictured the cattle, sheep and horses, this along with her knowledge of her own anatomy gave her a sense of where a grown man's organ went into a grown woman's body to make a baby.

She lifted a hand and loudly informed her mother, "You don't have to say anymore."

Her mother smiled as she held her breath and waited.

Elsie stared out into the meadow. An immense amount of information was swimming in her young brain. She absentmindedly picked up her apple to take a bite when a sudden thought occurred, "But why does the da have to put it into the mam?"

Elsie's mother had anticipated this question, "While the da is inside the mam, something comes out of him and goes into her. That joins with what is inside of her to make a bairn."

Elsie dropped her apple, putting her hands over her eyes, "Oh, Mam, I am never going on a picnic with you again!"

* * *

><p>Fifty-four year old Elsie Hughes grinned at the memory, remembering her mother gathering her into her arms as she shook with laughter. Her thoughts were interrupted by an odd sensation. She had distractedly run a wash cloth over her left arm and was moving onto her chest when she felt an odd bump on the lower outside of her left breast. She tried to get a visual of the side of her breast, but it was impossible without a looking glass. She prodded at what felt like a pebble under her skin. She felt the same place on her right breast, but didn't detect the same strange mass. Her stomach flipped over. She knew of a few women who had found spots like this. She felt nauseas as it dawned on her that they had all died within only a year or so of discovering lumps.<p>

She dropped the wash cloth into the tub as she let her torso and head slide almost completely under water, her tears instantly mixing with the bathwater.

She was exhausted the next morning, having slept very little the night before. She couldn't concentrate, try as she might. She felt disoriented and disconnected. She decided that it might help if she told someone. Her first thought was Lady Mary's maid Anna. She loved the sweet young woman like a sister, or even daughter, but Anna had considerable troubles of her own with her husband in jail; there was no way she could burden her with more trouble. She decided someone closer to her age who had dealt with her own medical issues would be able empathize, rather than sympathize. She made her way to the kitchen.

Things were incredibly busy what with their being woefully understaffed. She hated to bother Mrs. Patmore, but her fears were eating away at her. Assuring she would only need her for a moment, she led the little cook into her into her sitting room. Door locked, her fingers shook as she unbuttoned the front left side of her dress, pushing down her corset and shift, explaining, "It is up to you, but I don't mind if you touch it. I almost wish you would. Maybe I am imagining it?"

Mrs. Patmore did gently feel the area, looking at Mrs. Hughes with a frown that confirmed the housekeeper wasn't dreaming, but living a nightmare. The ginger cook did her best to comfort her friend telling her it may be nothing, but encouraged her to schedule a consultation with Dr. Clarkson as it was "…best to know now."

The sudden thought of the money treatment for Cancer would cost more than doubled her misery. How could she possibly take care of Becky if she were to become too ill to work, or worse? She tried to hold in her tears, but Mrs. Patmore's kindness in made it impossible not to weep. The small woman did her best to hold back her own tears as she patted Mrs. Hughes' arm and tried to smile, her heart breaking for her friend.

The first few visits with Dr. Clarkson didn't provide the instant answers for which she hoped. She eventually underwent a procedure in which fluid was withdrawn from what Dr. Clarkson called her "cyst." The fluid that was drawn contained trace amounts of blood that wouldn't allow the doctor to declare it benign. The news that it could be up to two months from when Dr. Clarkson sent off the sample of fluid for further testing before they would have a result was almost more than she could bear.

* * *

><p>Lady Mary had orchestrated a large party to be attended by over forty people, including her visiting American grandmother, and the demands were enormous. She did her best, but the lack of sleep from worry coupled with an anxious butler, a bickering Thomas and Miss O'Brien, a sweet, but struggling new footman and a broken oven were more than Mrs. Hughes' exhausted body could handle.<p>

More than once Mr. Carson had caught her pausing to rest for a moment and each time he reprimanded her for not pulling her weight. She did her best to brush off his criticisms, but her fatigue and emotional state wouldn't allow it. Hurt deeply, she could only go on by reminding herself that it was her choice not to inform her of her predicament. She refused to let him think of her as sick, or even worse.

It was just after Lady Mary's party that she finally cracked during one of Mr. Carson's small tirades. She angrily brought up how short staffed they were, also harshly chastising not only him, but his "blessed Lady Mary" for having ridiculous expectations. He had responded by quite curtly accusing her of being overtired. Mrs. Patmore witnessed this incident and was about to inform Mr. Carson of the medical situation, but Mrs. Hughes had swiftly stifled the cook's intentions, insisting Mrs. Patmore not breathe a word to him.

As exhausted as she was, she dreaded the nights more than anything. Her mind would not turn off the constant cycle of worry about what would happen to Becky if she could no longer pay for the nursing home. She had heard stories about asylums. The thought of her sweet sister in one of those places was more terrifying than the thought of her own death.

It was nearing the end of the two month wait, just before Lady Edith's sudden wedding, when she determined Mr. Carson had been told about her possible illness by someone. He suddenly became concerned about her being over tired. He feigned ignorance when she asked to whom he had been talking, but the man was a poor liar.

Her fears about his knowing something were confirmed when she was summoned into her Ladyship's bedroom one afternoon. While distraught at the thought of Mr. Carson knowing, she was overwhelmed by the generous offer of Lady Grantham regarding her welfare if she was indeed sick. Cora Crawley assured her she would be welcome to stay at Downton for as long as she wanted, as well as a nurse being provided for her care. She found herself quite speechless and very touched by the kindnesses offered.

Mr. Carson made his last daily check on her late that evening, insisting that she needed to get to bed in order to be rested for the Lady Edith's wedding the following day. She didn't confess the entirety of her situation, but she did admit how incredibly generous and kind her Ladyship had been. He maintained his poorly executed insistence of not knowing what she was talking about, and while she was annoyed that he had found out, the fact that he was worried meant a great deal to her. It was only after he left the room that she let down her guard; the generosity of Cora Crawley, along with the worry of Mr. Carson, the ever present dread about what should happen to Becky and the general fear of pain and suffering were more than her heart could take. She made her away across the room, and with the turn of the lock, her weeping commenced.

She had word just before leaving for the wedding that Dr. Clarkson would see her the next afternoon with results. The anxiety of the impending consultation, coupled with her exhaustion and what she felt was overzealous concern on the part of the butler led her to snap at Mr. Carson and Mrs. Patmore just before they left for the church. Immediately regretting it, she did her best to put on a more cheerful front at the wedding.

She didn't have to maintain her façade long. Lady Edith's fiancé, the considerably older Sir Anthony left the poor girl standing at the altar. She returned to the Abbey with the rest of the staff, all in a state of shock. It helped that she could channel her anxiety into anger at Sir Anthony. She surprised Mr. Carson by defending young footman Alfred's attack on the old man's character, quite certain there wasn't an insult the nobleman didn't deserve.

That night was the longest of her life. She had endured the kid glove treatment from Mr. Carson and managed to get into bed by eleven. No matter how she tried, she could not sleep. She gave up at three in the morning and turned on her light. Looking around the room for some sort of distraction, her eyes fell on the trunk at the end of her bed. She quickly undid the latches and pulled open the lid. She knew just where it was, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, just under a box that contained a collection of friendly Valentines she had received from Mr. Carson over the years, a framed photo of her family from 1879 and a small dolly won for her at a fair by a long ago friend.

Brushing her hand over the soft surface, she was amazed that it was in such good condition being over forty years old. She gently shook it, turned out the light and climbed into bed. She didn't know if she was imagining it, but she thought she could smell a faint whiff of apples and piccalilli as she pulled it up around her shoulders. Within seconds she was fast asleep, barmy rainbow wrapped securely around her shoulders.

The morning had thankfully gone by quickly, so much to do in recovery of the canceled wedding. Mrs. Patmore waited outside for her to put on her coat as Mr. Carson stepped into her sitting room. He carefully asked if he could assist her with the errand she feebly offered as the excuse for her trip to the village. She assured him it was something to which only she could attend.

Adjusting her scarf, she glanced up at the worried faces of her friends reflected in the mirror and then back to her own face. She was touched by their care, but the consequences of what she was about to be told went far beyond her health. She suddenly flashed to the moment she had held her mother's lifeless body in her arms, the same words echoing in her mind, "Oh, Mam, what am I going to do?"

Mrs. Patmore called her back to the present asking if she was ready to go. "Ready as I'll ever be," was the only reply she could muster.

Within half an hour she was seated across from Dr. Clarkson, choosing to hear the diagnosis alone.

"Benign. It is a benign growth, Mrs. Hughes. You have nothing to worry about."

She exhaled deeply, the greatest sense of relief surging through her body. She fought to keep her tears at bay as the doctor made his way around the desk and gently patted her back.

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson, oh thank you so much."

The kind Scottish doctor smiled as he took her hand and offered his congratulations, "Meal do naidheachd."

She laughed through her tears, "Tapadh leat."

Mrs. Patmore held her breath as the door to the surgery opened. One look at Mrs. Hughes smiling, relaxed face and she burst into happy tears. "Oh, thank God." She threw her arms around the housekeeper and the two old friends happily wept together.

Mrs. Hughes was careful to let Mrs. Patmore enter the house before she did. Mr. Carson was certain to be waiting to hear her news. She waited almost a minute before tiptoeing in. Finding Mrs. Patmore alone, the cook assured her she had put Mr. Carson "out of his misery." The waves of relief still lapped over her as she made her way to the corridor. She was almost to her parlor when she heard what sounded like singing. Taking a few steps towards the partially closed door to the butler's pantry, she suddenly realized it was Mr. Carson.

"Dashing away with the smoothing iron,

Dashing away with the smoothing iron,

Dashing away with the smoothing iron she stole my heart away…"

Her heart leapt and she couldn't help but beam. The last hour had been one of the most revealing and joyful of her life. She now knew that not only was she healthy, but that she could stop worrying for the moment about Becky's security. She stepped into her sitting room and was about to remove her hat in front of the looking glass when she suddenly stopped and looked into her own eyes, forcing herself to own up to one more revelation: "You are in love with that man, Elsie Hughes."

* * *

><p><strong>Relied on the internet for the Scottish words for "congratulations" and "thank you." Hope they aren't too ridiculous. Have received such lovely responses to this story. Thank you ever so much. Promise to give Mr. Carson more love in the next chapter. :)<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: You may notice a portion of chapter two has been added to the end of this one. Interesting how these things reveal what they want to be the further you get into writing them. I beg your forgiveness in my edit. I think it serves the story better this way. Hoping to have the next chapter posted either today or tomorrow. p.s.- you are all gorgeous and generous. XO**

* * *

><p>1870<p>

The cow and goat were milked, the chickens fed, and he had helped his father, a groom for Lord Grantham of Downton Abbey, muck out the stalls of the stable; there was no way ten year-old Charles Carson was going to miss the annual village fair that was set up just off the square in Downton, as it had been every first week in September of his childhood. The boy had done his best to anticipate any chores his mother or father might see fit for him to perform, taking no chances that they would find fault with his behavior and cancel the outing. Almost tripping over his own large feet several times, the gangly young man had run every step of the mile between the Abbey stable and his parents' small cottage. His mum had said as soon as she was done with the day's laundry they could go.

He smiled brightly at his mother as he helped her pull the laundry off the line, careful not to let a thread touch the ground, joining her in humming a simple folk song she had taught him. He was delighted to see they were almost finished as his mother retrieved the last sheet from the bottom of the basket, handing Charles two ends of the linen.

"You are certainly working hard today, Charlie." The boy smiled, pleased his mother was aware of his efforts. He was walking towards her with the half folded sheet when she added, "I have been thinking and I don't feel we should attend the village fair this evening."

Charles lost hold of the sheet as he looked at his mother in shock, "But, but you said…"

"Ugh, Charlie!" His mother scowled as she waited for him to retrieve his end of the sheet. Charles scrambled and almost fell as he furiously grabbed at the ends of material.

"The fair will come again. If you work as you have worked today, between then and now, I will be more than happy to take you this time next year."

Charles bit his lip to keep from crying, he was quite sure his heart was breaking.

Alma Carson was not a cold person. She loved Charles very much and was certain he knew this. She had been raised by an abusive father after her mother had died a very early death. She knew the difference between cruelty and constructive parenting. Charles was a good boy, but he wasn't as motivated as she would like. He had a tendency to act the clown, always the first to sing a song or make a joke in an effort to entertain his friends. She and her husband repeatedly had to remind him to complete his chores, often having to go behind and finish them in his haste to join other village boys in friendly games of cricket. Charles would only attend school one more year. They feared his work ethic was not strong enough to assure him a job as a hall boy and eventually a footman at the Abbey. Benjamin Carson wanted more for his son than a life in the stable. Alma hoped this last minute strategy would be the proverbial foot in the rear her son needed to acquire some maturity.

Alma Carson looked at her son's pained expression, "I know you are disappointed, but today you showed your father and I that you are quite capable of doing things without us having to repeatedly tell you to do them. Pleasures aren't owed you, Charles, they are earned. You want a position in the Abbey, don't you? A good future? It is time you began acting like it."

Charles fought to still his quivering chin as he looked at his mother, "Yes, Mum." He helped her complete the folding of the sheet and turned his head away, looking down to collect the loose pegs that had fallen from the empty line. He was determined to keep her from seeing the tears rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

><p>The next morning and every morning for months, Charles Carson woke at dawn and completed all his chores with nary a word from either of his parents. He uncomplainingly helped his mother with the wash, tended to any repairs needed to be made around the cottage or the shed out back that served as their makeshift barn. After school and on days he didn't have school, he joined his father at the Abbey to serve as a stable boy in return for meals and a few shillings a week. Charles carefully saved his money, his thoughts drifting to all the wonderful things he would be able to buy and do at the fair in the fall.<p>

In May, his mother began to feel unwell. She and his father told Charles she was just "under the weather" and he need not worry., but by August, she was unable to leave her bed and Dr. Wilson, the local physician, began visiting her once a week.

Alma Wilson had noticed a strange knot under left jaw bone the previous Christmas, but had felt no pain at the time and decided to ignore it. Unbeknownst to her, the knot was a malignant tumor that had rapidly metastasized into her other glands, eventually moving to several other organs. Her body was eaten up with cancer by the end of the summer.

Charles' father, couldn't afford to miss work, so it fell to the newly turned eleven year old to take care of his mother. Knowing his father needed rest, the young boy began sleeping in a chair in the corner of his parents' bedroom while his father slept in Charles' room. Charles slept very little during those summer months, frequently rising to fetch a cool cloth to wipe his mother's brow or to help her on and off the chamber pot. Having taken after his father's side of the family, Charles was as tall as his petite mother which made it possible for him to support her steadily wasting frame.

The last weekend in August, his mother took a turn for the worse. She was delirious; her mind in a perpetual state of confusion or unconsciousness, no longer eating or drinking, her body began to shut down. Charles father was given leave from the stables, the doctor having informed Lord Grantham that the groom's wife was nearing the end. Charles sat in the chair that had served as his bed for the last few months as his father gently cradled his mother's body.

"Sing to her, Charlie. You know she loves to hear you sing."

Wiping tears from his eyes, the young boy stood up from his chair and looked at his mother. His voice shook as he began to sing the words of a Shakespearean sonnet his mother had taught him to sing to the tune of an old folk song:

"_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate; _

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

_And summer's lease hath all too short a date…"_

He repeated the verse until he heard his father let out a cry. Alma Carson had slipped away.

* * *

><p>Men were tearing down the red and white marquees which had housed most of the village fair's attractions as the boy and his father walked to the church for Alma Carson's funeral. Charles let himself take one look at the littered patch of grass that still smelled of bonfire and beer before returning his gaze to the ground. He told himself it didn't matter. Something had altered in him and he no longer saw the point in anything as silly as a fair.<p>

Life went on in Downton, though Charles just seemed to let it carry him along. No longer did he participate in pick up cricket games or cut up with his friends. The song he had sung as to his mother was the last tune that his left his mouth since her death.

He finished his year of school and was taken on as a hall boy at the Abbey. He was an ideal employee, quiet, courteous and dependable, as well as a quick learner. He was promoted to footman at age sixteen, moving into the abbey along with the rest of the house staff.

Although sharing the same employer, it was rare for Benjamin and Charles Carson's paths to cross. Charles had become accustomed to only seeing his father at church during the two years he had served as second footman. They had last seen each other on Christmas Day the week before and had promised one another that they would meet for a drink on New Year's Day. The Abbey was full of guests joining Lord and Lady Grantham in ringing in the New Year, 1878. A housemaid quietly beckoned Mr. Halliwell, the current butler of Downton Abbey, into the hall.

Charles had seen the older man leave, but paid little mind as he continued to pass out glasses of wine and champagne. He was surprised to see the butler headed his way as he carried a tray of empty glasses towards the baize door.

A look was all Charles needed to prompt him to follow the butler downstairs.

"I'm sorry, Charles, but it seems that your father is gone. Young Grey found him lying in the tack room."

Charles looked at the man in confusion, "Gone…but he was found in the tack room?"

The butler shook his head as he placed his hand on Charles' arm, "He's dead, Charles. Grey found him lifeless. It appears his heart just gave out."

Charles' legs began to shake. Mr. Halliwell quickly directed to him a chair. "You can go see him if you want, but you will need to meet with Dr. Wilson. He has been called. Don't come back upstairs. I will let his Lord and Ladyship know what has happened."

The days between New Year's and his father's funeral were a blur. Mr. Halliwell assured him he was welcome to take off a few days following his father's funeral to attend to any business. Following the funeral, Charles had returned to his father's cottage to find it a complete wreck. The sink was full of dishes and bits of food and clothes littered the floor. The livestock had been sold long ago and the shed stood empty except for a few rats who had sought refuge from the cold. Charles spent the rest of that day and the following washing, cleaning and repairing the cottage in order to make it available for new tenants.

He took an old basket of his mothers' and gathered a few mementos, deciding the rest would either stay with the house or be given to the church. Upon opening the top dresser drawer, he was surprised to find a collection of his mother's things. His father had given most of her possessions to the poor, but the few keepsakes he saved had been relegated to this drawer. A pair of her gloves, a few handkerchiefs, a small book of poetry containing a pressed rose and a small velvet box was all that remained to represent Alma Carson's existence.

Charles was surprised to see his mother's wedding ring resting in the bottom of the small velvet box. He had assumed she had been buried with the woven silver band, ornately decorated with small silver leaves as well as an embedded sapphire stone. He lifted the ring, an heirloom from his own father's Scottish mother. Another surprise awaited him. Under the ring was a small scrap of paper folded into fourths. Charles slid the delicate band onto his little finger and unfolded the note.

_For Charles' wife_

The handwriting was his mother's.

Slipping the ring and note back into the box and returning it to its place in the drawer, Charles sat down on the bare mattress and let himself weep for his parents for the first time.

* * *

><p>Having worked diligently the first day and a half, Charles decided to take a cart to Ripon on his second free day.<p>

Having no set plans, Charles noticed a public house called The Old Monk. He decided a drink might be exactly what he needed.

Walking through the door he was dismayed to find it teeming with patrons. His eyes finally landed on an empty seat next to a man with thinning ginger hair. The man smiled as Charles stepped up next to him, "Hello, friend. You look like you could use a tankard of the finest bitter this establishment has to offer." Charles was surprised by the stranger's friendly greeting.

"Charles Griggs," the smaller man stuck out his hand, "Actor, singer, juggler, performer extraordinaire.

Charles had never met a real performer before and he eyed the man warily. "Charles Carson," he supplied as he shook the man's hand. "Footman, Downton Abbey."

"Ah! The big house. I haven't seen it, but have heard. What is that like, being a footman?"

Charles thought for a moment. "Steady?" It was the only word he could summon.

"Hmmm…that doesn't sound too exciting...I am only in town for the next few nights, filling in for a dog act. Apparently they all ate some tainted meat and died."

Charles gave him a started look.

"Their own fault. Not so talented if they can't tell if something's off or not."

Charles had nothing to offer and was relieved when the bartender placed a tankard in front of him.

"You have quite a deep voice. How old are you?"

Charles swallowed his first mouthful, "Eighteen."

"Do you sing?"

By three o'clock that evening, Griggs had plied Charles with many more tankards of beer. Having only shared a single glass of beer or wine with his father on occasion, the lanky young man had far exceeded his level of tolerance. His head swimming in a way that disconnected him from reality, Charles found himself standing in the middle of the pub, his arm over Griggs' shoulder as the two of them sang a duet of "The Jolly Brown Turd," a bawdy song they had each heard in their youths.

The crowd gave them a rowdy round of applause which gave Griggs time to skillfully remove a few shillings from Charles' pocket.

"I shall pay our tab and we will move out into the sunshine and discuss some business on our way to the Dog and Duck, Mr. Carson."

Charles could barely walk, much less concentrate on the soliloquy Griggs was spouting as the two men made their way towards another pub only blocks away. They had almost reached the door when Griggs turned around, "…and so you see, double acts are far more desirable. You have the gift of voice, Charles! The rest I can teach you. And the name, why that's simple! Charlie and Charlie- we'll be the Charming Charlies or the Cheery Charlies…No! The Cheerful Charlies! I can see it printed on the posters!"

Charles Carson stared at the smaller man with confusion. "You want me to join you? On the stage?"

Griggs rolled his eyes, "Have you heard nothing I've said? I know it seems sudden, but I have a nose for this sort of thing, Charles Carson. This is going to change your life!"

The visit to the Dog and Duck was filled with more beer and bawdy songs, and was followed by a stop at the "Whistler's Way" before the two ended up back at Griggs' dirty hotel room.

The following day was a blur of nausea and pain in a strange bed for young Charles Carson. Without his consent, or even knowledge, Griggs wrote a letter to Lord Grantham informing him that Charles Carson was taking a leave of absence from the Abbey to pursue an exciting new vocation. Using more money from Charles' pocket, Griggs posted the letter and got the timetable for the rail station in Downton. They would work out the act on the way to the theatre whose manager owed Griggs a favor.

"You what?!" It was before dawn the next morning and Charles head was pounding, but he was quite sober as he responded to the information Griggs had just shared.

"You puzzle me, Charles. You were quite agreeable last night!"

Charles flew out of the bed. "I was drunk off my tail, sir! I don't even know where I am!"

Griggs gave Charles' back a quick pat. "It's done, Charlie boy. Now, how much money can you get your hands on before our nine o'clock train?"

Charles tried to reason with Griggs, but it was of no use. The damage had been done. He couldn't deny it. His job was no longer his. What could he do? Griggs had a connection at the livery stable and managed to hire a cart for he and Charles to take back to Downton. There was nothing at the Abbey that needed retrieval. He was wearing his only suit and pair of shoes that weren't part of his livery. They stopped briefly at his father's cottage. Quite certain Griggs had been systematically picking his pocket, Charles carefully stowed the small box containing his mother's wedding ring into a handkerchief and placed that in an empty Carter's Liver Pill box. Wedding ring safely tucked in his bag, Charles and Griggs traveled to the post office where the distraught young man withdrew the contents of his post office box. Seven pounds now folded neatly in his inside jacket pocket, the men made their way to the rail office.

Charles kept his hat pulled down and avoided making eye contact with anyone. His heart ached as his stomach flipped and flopped the entire walk to the station. He felt trapped and completely out of any sort of control. Three minutes before their train was due to arrive, Charles quickly ran behind a tree and vomited the entire contents of his stomach.

* * *

><p>1879<p>

He was certain Griggs had said to meet him back at the hotel at four. Charles Carson fished his watch from the pocket in his waistcoat. It was now twenty minutes after. Had he misunderstood?

The tall, lanky young man paced up and down the pavement gazing as far as he could for any sign of his friend. Perhaps he was supposed to meet him at the theatre? It was the Monday after the end of their two week engagement at the Royal, a small, unimpressive music hall in Leicester. He swore Griggs said he would pick up their weeks' pay from the man backstage, meet him at the hotel and then they would make their way to the boarding house where the Neale sisters were staying before catching their late train.

"Sir?" a young boy around ten years of age was standing to his right, looking up at him. "Are you Mr. Charles Carson?"

Perhaps the lad had seen he and Griggs perform their Cheerful Charlies act in the past weeks. No, he wouldn't know his last name. Charles gave the youngster a confused look. "I am. How did you know that?"

"The ginger man said to give this note to a very tall man with dark hair and a big nose."

Charles grimaced at the smiling urchin as he snatched the note from his hand, "Be off with you!" He watched the boy run away, "Cheek…" Charles unfolded the piece of paper and recognized Griggs' hand writing:

_Charlie-_

_Hate to do this to you, but Alice thinks it is the best for all of us. I have asked her to leave with me and she has agreed. I know you have been unhappy with the act and will not be terribly upset by my departure. Alice wants you to know she appreciates the kindness you have shown her as a friend. We will both miss you, chap._

_ -Griggs_

_p.s. Afraid our travel arrangements require the entire amount I was issued at the theatre. Consider it a loan. Will repay you at the first opportunity. -CG_

They were gone. Charles Griggs and Alice Neale, his only friends, and they had left him high and dry in Leicester. _Alice wants you to know she appreciates the kindness you have shown her as a friend…_ As a friend? He couldn't believe his eyes. He had courted Alice Neale for more than three months. He had escorted her to dinner many evenings after their performances; he had even accompanied her to church the last three Sundays. He knew Griggs had flirted with her, but she didn't act as if she even liked Griggs, much less felt strongly enough about him to run away with the man. He had to read the note three more times for the reality of it to set in.

It couldn't be right. This was Griggs retaliating for Charles wanting to leave. Griggs knew Charles had resented the sly way he had coerced him into joining him on the stage, not to mention the torturous first few months they had suffered breaking in the act. Charles had diligently learned the songs and dance steps, as well as spending countless hours practicing juggling. It had been daunting, but like every other endeavor in his life, Charles Carson had kept his head down and worked hard. It was obvious that he had the better voice and quickly became a better juggler than his partner. It was Charles' talent that was getting them booked. Griggs knew he had a meal ticket in the form of the six foot two baritone that stood on his right.

Having seen the small silver band Charles would fish out of his bag every now and then, Griggs knew it was only a matter of time before Charles quit the act and asked Alice to marry him. Angry and jealous, Griggs had dedcided if Charles wouldn't be his partner, he would make damn certain Alice Neale would.

Charles Carson was unaware of the various gifts of jewelry and flowers Griggs had begun bestowing on Alice. Griggs knew how to talk to women, a skill at which Charles was woefully lacking. Promises of a better, more exciting life of travel and excitement had lured Alice Neale from the kind, stable arms of Charles Carson.

Charles felt sick. He knew the man was selfish and petty, but this betrayal was beyond that which he thought Griggs capable.

What if he had taken Alice against her will? Perhaps he had threatened her into going with him? He might have time to catch them at the train station. He wasn't sure if they were traveling by train, but it was his best option.

He tucked his satchel under his arm and began running with every ounce of energy he could muster. It took him almost fifteen minutes to reach the station. The platform was full of passengers both arriving and departing. He wove his way through the crowd, but didn't see them. He had made one length of the platform and was beginning a second trip when he saw her. She was seated next to the window on the train that had just started to depart. He ran with all his might, shouting her name when he could catch his breath. She couldn't hear him given the noise of the moving train, but she happened to look over her shoulder, locking eyes with him. She placed a hand on the window and mouthed, "I'm sorry." He lost the ability to move his legs any longer. He struggled to hold his head up to look at her, his body prostrate with exhaustion. Within seconds she was gone.

It was true. She had chosen Charles Griggs over him.

He never saw her again.

* * *

><p>Charles had just enough money to buy a fare back to Downton. He was unsure what he would do when he got there, but he had the entire train ride to think about it.<p>

His saving grace came in the form of a thirteen year old boy. Robert Crawley, the heir to the Grantham title, was a pudgy young man with rosy cheeks and a mop of curls who had always adored Charles Carson. He had been quite distraught when his father informed him that the tall footman had sent word that he was leaving the Abbey to try a different line of work.

Violet Crawley, Lady Grantham, had been almost as upset as her thirteen year old son. She found Charles Carson to be a dependable footman, mature beyond his years. He was a positive influence on the somewhat spoiled Robert and she had great hopes that the butler would serve as valet to her son and eventually become butler when Robert assumed the title.

Lady Grantham happened to be passing through the gallery when Mr. Halliwell appeared with the afternoon's post. "Milady, a letter addressed to his Lordship arrived with the name "C. Carson" noted on the back. The return address is the Downton Post Office."

Her husband was away in London on business. She couldn't shake a sudden feeling that it was imperative for her to open the letter. "I'll take it, Halliwell. Thank you."

_Lord Grantham,_

_It is with deep humility that I write you this letter. I have disgraced not only myself, but my father, as well, with my actions of a year ago next month. Poor decisions have left me without position or accommodation. I humbly ask that you consider allowing Mr. Halliwell to write me any sort of recommendation that I may use to secure employment to support myself. It is with a humble heart that I declare to you my intention to lead a life dedicated to honest work for an honest wage. _

_I understand if my request is deemed unreasonable. I appreciate your kindness in even reading this letter. _

_I will always remember Downton Abbey as the finest of estates, you and her Ladyship, the most respected of employers. _

_With deep gratitude,_

_Charles Carson_

_c/o Downton Post Office_

Violet Crawley couldn't help but smile as she re-read the letter. The tall, gangly boy with the large nose and expressive eyes needed their help. She made her way into the library, ringing the bell just inside the door.

Mr. Halliwell appeared in a matter of moments, "Milady?"

"Would you ask Nanny to send Master Robert to see me. I wish to have a little talk with him."

"Very good, milady."

Robert quietly made his way into the library. He had managed to make it through the Christmas holiday without a dressing down from his mother. With only a few days left before he was to leave for the beginning of the new term, he wondered what he had done to upset her.

"Come here, my dear. Do not worry. You are not in trouble."

Robert breathed a sigh of relief, "Yes, Mama?"

The conversation was thrilling for Robert. It was the first time his mother had treated him like an adult. She let him read Charles Carson's letter and asked his opinion on whether they should let Mr. Halliwell provide the young man with a letter of recommendation.

Robert was quiet as he considered the situation. He rubbed his chin as he had seen his father often do when making decisions. "I don't think we should, Mama."

Violet was surprised by his response. "Really? And why not?" She was curious as to his reasoning.

"I don't think he needs a letter of recommendation if we let him come back to work at Downton."

She had not expected this. "He left us with no notice, Robert. A person can't just up and leave their position and expect to have it given back to them."

"Charles is not like that, Mama. His father had just died and he has no family. Perhaps he was confused and just needed time to determine what he wanted to do with his life."

She had definitely not expected this mature reasoning from her son. "Where on God's green earth did you come up with that?"

"Papa. I was upset when he told me Charles had left. He is the one who told Charles was confused because his father had died and he had no family." The young man looked at his mother expectantly, "Don't you think that might be true, Mama, or at least possible?"

Violet Crawley knew what it was to be confused and to make bad decisions. Robert had only been a baby when she, herself, had almost made a life shattering decision. The actions of a spurned woman on a cold night in Russia had been the source of her second chance at respectable life.

She looked at the pleading eyes of her son, "I will have to speak to your papa when he returns this evening. You will know our decision in the morning."

Charles Carson was sleeping on a small cot in the station master's office. Mr. Wembley was an old friend of Charles' father and had felt sorry for the lad who had turned up penniless. Certain he would hear something from the Abbey the next day; he had gratefully accepted the station master's charity.

"Charles!" Mr. Wembley shook him by his shoulder, "Charles, wake up! The Lord's carriage is here. You are to take it to the Abbey!"

Charles jumped up, immediately hitting his head on a shelf. He rubbed his head with one hand as he used the other to pull on his shoes. Taking a quick look in the mirror, he tried to smooth his unruly hair the best he could. He pulled on his coat and quickly shook Mr. Wembley's hand, thanking him for his kindness.

Charles did his best to straighten his appearance as the carriage pulled up to the back yard of the large house.

Mr. Halliwell was standing by the door, his hands tucked behind his back. "The prodigal son returns." The butler was a kind and forgiving man who had always been partial to the quiet young man. "I don't know what they have decided, lad, but it is nice to see you again."

Charles gave Mr. Hallowell a grateful smile before following him into the house. He tried not to make eye contact as he encountered familiar faces at each turn, but was touched to see the young ginger haired assistant cook Beryl offer a warm smile as he made his way past the kitchen.

Mr. Halliwell took him directly into the library; its only inhabitant was Lady Grantham.

"Good morning, Charles."

"Good morning, milady." Charles held his hat in his hands as he struggled to read the woman's face.

"I am afraid Lord Grantham was called away early this morning, but I think I may address the question posed in your letter." She pursed her lips and took a deep breath, "I am afraid we will not be able to provide you with a letter of recommendation, Charles."

His stomach fell. He had anticipated this would be her response, but had held out a small hope that he might have found her in a charitable mood.

"I understand, milady. I appreciate you taking the time to tell me in person."

"I am not finished, Charles. We cannot offer you a letter of recommendation when you have no need for one."

Charles was thoroughly confused by her statement. "Milady?"

"If you accept, and I will think you quite the fool if you do not, but if you accept, you will be reinstated as second footman. This is a rare second chance, young man. I hope you will treat it as the precious gift it is."

"Yes, milady, I most gratefully accept. Thank you. Thank you very much."

"As to your absence, we will say no more of it. Your father was a respected member of our staff, as were you. I trust you will do your best to regain that respect?"

"You have my word, milady."

"Very well. Mr. Halliwell, please inform the staff they have a new footman."

The butler managed to sneak a wink to the young footman, "Very good, milady."

"Oh, Charles? Please make a stop in the nursery before you join Mr. Halliwell downstairs. I believe someone would like to welcome you back."

* * *

><p>1895<p>

Charles Carson stood in front of the small looking glass that hung by a ribbon over his wash stand. His features were slightly distorted in the candlelight by which he had dressed. It was four-thirty in the morning and he hadn't slept a wink the night before his first day as butler of Downton Abbey.

The house was quiet and still with the exception of the pop of crackling wood as the newest scullery maid moved from room to room lighting the fireplaces throughout the large house.

Mr. Carson stepped into what was now his pantry and lit the pewter candelabra that sat on the cabinet nearest the silver closet. He retrieved his keys from their position on his hip and quickly unlocked the closet which contained a selection of platters, tureens, candelabras, and various other pieces dating back as far as the Fourteenth Century. He inhaled deeply as his eyes ran over the inventory. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small velvet box slightly smaller than a snuff box. He carefully slid his parcel behind a rarely used sugar bowl resting in the corner of the second shelf.

The symbolism didn't register with him, but in fact, he had just placed his mother's wedding ring in the most secure vault- the heart of the stately house. At that moment he subconsciously made a promise to love, cherish and obey, in sickness and in health, Downton Abbey and the family who inhabited it.

The decision to accept the post of butler afforded him a greater degree of respect from the staff and the village, but he also knew he was turning his back on a life that included a wife and family of his own. Having devoted the last sixteen years of his life as footman, valet and eventually under butler to Lord and Lady Grantham, and lately, the new Lord and Lady Grantham, their son and his American wife, he felt a greater tie to the Crawley family than any other group of people. It was a decision that had not been difficult to make.

He took one more look at the cabinet, his glance finally resting on the sugar bowl on the second shelf. "Best get on with it," his voice barely more than a whisper, he closed the doors, locked the cabinet and began the first of many days as butler to what he considered the finest stately home in Yorkshire, and if he had anything to do with it, England.

* * *

><p><strong>Indulgent note: My eldest niece and I were talking after seeing Into the Woods at Christmas. She asked, "Why are the mothers always dead or have to die?" She was referring to Bambi, Cinderella, Snow White... Mine died from the same cancer I issued Charles' mother when I was very young. I wrote this last chapter on what would have been her 60th birthday. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Giving Charles' POV on the medical issue of 1920 and ending with some romance...**

1920

He had to know. He had overheard Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore whispering in the corridor about delayed results, and he had rather underhandedly divined information from Dr. Clarkson, although the doctor was not inclined to provide specifics. Scared and anxious, he could no longer idly stand by.

Charles Carson saw the panic in the small cook's eyes as he beckoned her from the kitchen and down the corridor. It didn't take long for Mrs. Patmore to confirm his worst fears. Nothing in the world could strike terror in him like that single word: Cancer. His memories of what his own mother had endured were the most painful of his life. The thought of his closest friend suffering the same fate was almost more than he could bear. His immediate concern was for her future. If the terrible possibility was deemed a reality, she would need care and support.

It was a snap decision, but he found he could put it off not a moment longer. As the loaded cars for their afternoon's picnic, he stopped Cora Crawley. They were pressed for time, but he was able to relate that there was a possibility Mrs. Hughes was ill. He was disappointed that she was forced to leave before he could explain the gravity of the situation, but it gave him a sense of relief to know that she was at least aware. Knowing Lady Grantham to have a kind heart, he trusted she would intervene with compassion.

As he proceeded to encounter Mrs. Hughes throughout the day, it pained him to see her saddled with so many tasks and trivialities. He wanted to respect her privacy, but she found his efforts to get her to rest conspicuous. He walked away from each exchange with a heavy heart. He wished she would confide in him. After so many years, didn't she know that he cared for her more than if she were merely an acquaintance? Weren't they friends, even confidantes?

His concern was matched only by his guilt. He had been so careless in his chastisements over the past months. He should have been able to tell she was struggling with a personal burden, not merely slacking off from work of as he had accused her.

Late in the evening, he was upset to see a light still on under her sitting room door. Knocking lightly on her door, he entered. As she turned to greet him, he thought she actually looked a little brighter than she had earlier in the day. He held his breath for a moment when she informed him of her meeting with Lady Grantham. Great relief filled him as she voiced her true appreciation for the generous future filled with care and support which Cora Crawley had offered. He was heartened to know his faith in their employer was well founded.

She tried again to gain a confession of his knowledge of her situation, but he doggedly maintained his plea of ignorance. While he was desperate to help her, he also wished to respect her desire to keep the matter between her, Mrs. Patmore and Dr. Clarkson. Upon leaving her sitting room, he paused briefly outside the door and thought how very much he wished he could take his friend in his arms and hold her. The small nagging voice that constantly reminded him of duty and propriety made itself heard and the butler forced himself to walk away from the housekeeper's door.

It was just as they were getting ready to leave for Lady Edith's wedding that Mrs. Hughes had finally used the word "illness" in his presence. His latest effort to provide her with a chance to rest had put the tin hat on her patience. Not wanting to upset her any further, he feebly denied his knowledge and left the room. The wedding was a debacle, the poor bride being left at the altar by her considerably older intended. Heartbroken for the young woman, he did find the day's events a distraction from his constant worrying over Mrs. Hughes.

It was late in the evening when Mrs. Patmore pulled him aside informed him that Mrs. Hughes had heard from Dr. Clarkson and she would have the results the following afternoon. He hardly slept a wink that night. His mind constantly churned with thoughts of what the future may bring. One thing he knew for sure, she would not endure it alone. He would do everything possible to help and comfort her.

The morning went by quickly and just after lunch he saw Mrs. Patmore waiting outside the sitting room, her coat and hat already on. She gave him a nod as he let himself into the housekeeper's sitting room. Mrs. Hughes barely glanced up at him which gave him the opportunity to gaze upon her reflection in the looking glass as she adjusted her scarf. A tune came into his head, filling him with sadness as he recognized what it was:

"_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate; _

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

_And summer's lease hath all too short a date…"_

He tried to catch her eye as she passed him on her way out of the room, but she kept her head down. He watched their departure until both housekeeper and cook were on the other side of the closed door. Lowering his head, he turned in the opposite direction with a plea filled prayer on his lips.

He couldn't help but check his watch as periodically over the next hour. He tried to busy himself with the silver, but found he couldn't focus. "Let her be all right, let her be all right…" the prayer became a chant in his mind as the minutes slowly passed.

He was out of his pantry and into the kitchen like a shot as he heard the back door open. Mrs. Patmore was alone. Thankfully, she put him out of his substantial misery by confirming that the cyst was benign. There was no Cancer. He felt as if he might fly out of the room. Gathering his wits, he asked her to not tell Mrs. Hughes she had told him the result. Concerned and worried as he had been, he still wished to respect her privacy. Ducking back into the butler's pantry he felt an adrenaline rush. Picking up his cloth and the first piece of silver he laid his eyes on, the words to the song he had often heard his father sing to his mother while twirling her around their kitchen suddenly came to mind. His happiness was so great, he allowed himself to smile brightly at his reflection in a silver tray, happy to have someone with whom to celebrate as he sang through the chorus:

"_Dashing away with the smoothing iron, _

_Dashing away with the smoothing iron, _

_Dashing away with the smoothing iron, she stole my heart away…"_

* * *

><p>1923<p>

He looked around but didn't see her. There were Daisy, Ivy, Mrs. Patmore and the odd American valet. He turned and looked over his shoulder to see Anna and Mr. Bates strolling arm and arm up near the stands. Moseley and some of the other men were engaged in a football game down the shore. Where was she?

He turned his head towards the sea and spotted her. She had been right there in front of him all along. He noticed she had removed her shoes and stockings and appeared to be surveying the surf in front of her. Before he even realized what he was doing he had untied his shoes, unhooked his socks from his garters and rolled his pant cuffs up a few inches.

He wasn't ready for the cold. The groan he emitted when the surf hit his feet drew her attention.

Taking in his large bare feet and doubtful countenance, she pressed her luck by issuing, "Come on, I dare you!"

She couldn't just say, "Hello, Mr. Carson," or "Awfully cold isn't it?" Didn't she know he was out of his depths, as it were, just standing barefoot near her? She was daring him like an ornery child. He felt ridiculous and quickly voiced his concerns about getting wet or falling over. His whinging was met with a playful dismissal. He watched the way her eyes twinkled as she smiled at him. Hers' was a lovely face, he thought. It was at once young and wise, each line representing a kindness she had offered, a sorrow she had survived or a joy she had shared.

"You can hold my hand. Then we'll both go in together."

His heart leapt at her offer. He concentrated on maintaining his balance as he moved towards her and, for once, allowed himself to ignore the small nagging voice of propriety. "I think I will hold your hand. It'll make me feel a bit steadier."

"You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady."

She never ceased to surprise him and he let her know she had succeeded in giving him a shock, referring to her comment as sounding "a little risqué."

She laughed at him, which he expected. What she said as she offered her hand he had not: "And if I did…we're getting on, you and I, Mr. Carson. We can afford to live a little."

It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't a question. It was simple statement of opinion.

He didn't respond, but the words sent a thrill through him as he simultaneously delighted in the feel of her warm, soft hand. It was if a light had suddenly been turned on inside of him. The warmth of the sun on his skin was no match for the glow he felt inside. He stole a look at her from the corner of his eye and knew without a doubt that something had irrevocably changed between them.

* * *

><p>19241925

Elsie Hughes slipped into an empty room and pulled the light silver chain from under the high neck of her evening dress. Deftly unclasping it, she slid the silver band that hung from it into her palm. She had secretly worn the necklace every day since Christmas Eve.

Standing in the dark, she lifted the object to her lips and kissed it, thinking of her mother and father and the love they had given her which still sustained her to this day. While there had been no talk of love between them, she knew that she did indeed love Charles Carson. However deep his feelings, she knew she had met the man who would finally replace the silver leafed band her mother had given her all those years ago.

She had a feeling that this would be the night he formally proposed. He had asked and she had agreed to meet him in her sitting room when the clock struck twelve. She stepped into the lit corridor and glanced at her time piece. Eleven fifty-eight. With a stomach full of butterflies and a racing heart, Elsie Hughes took off towards the stairs at a clipped pace.

The ball room was full of noisy revelers, as was the servant's hall. Charles Carson went unnoticed as he slipped into his pantry. Closing the door behind him, he swiftly unlocked the silver closet, deftly locating his treasure on the second shelf. Tucking a small, worn square of paper into one pocket of his waistcoat, he gingerly slipped the other object onto the little finger of his left hand. "Best get on with it," he whispered.

The clock had begun to chime as Elsie Hughes quietly closed the sitting room door and made her way to a waiting Charles Carson. "Good evening, Mr. Carson."

"Good evening, Mrs. Hughes."

They gazed at each other as they listened to the final chimes of the clock.

"Happy New Year, Elsie."

She smiled and felt a sudden bloom of warmth on her cheeks. He had never before called her by her Christian name. "Happy New Year, Charles."

Having slipped something from his left hand into his right, he took her left hand in his and lowered himself onto one knee. "Elsie, I want to do this properly."

Tears filled her eyes as she looked down at the lovely man who only one week before had completely turned her life around with an unexpected offer of security and companionship.

His voice was slow and measured, "It would make me a very proud and happy man if you would consent to be my wife. Elsie, will you marry me?"

Tears rand down her cheeks and over her smiling lips as Charles produced a silver band in his right hand. Her smile shifted to confusion as she tried to focus on the ring he held. "Where did you get that?"

Charles looked at her with alarm, "It was my mother's."

"Look." She lifted her left hand up to display the silver band she already wore.

"But…they look identical…" Charles squinted as he looked back and forth between the two bands. "The only difference is the small sapphire stone set in my mother's ring. Where did you get this one?"

"My mother gave it to me when I was twelve. Her mother gave it to her and so on. I was supposed to wear it until I met the man whose ring I wanted to replace it."

Charles face lit up as he suddenly remembered, "This was my father's mother's ring and she gave it to him to give to my mother. My grandmother was Scottish, I don't know if I ever told you that. My grandparents lived in Scotland when they were first married. They must have bought it while there."

Charles looked up at Elsie for permission. Smiling, she extended her fingers and he slid off the silver band. They both held their breath as he placed one ring on top of the other. The rings fit together perfectly.

They looked at each other in amazement.

Elsie's voice began to break as she shared a sudden realization, "I don't have a daughter to pass my ring on to… I suppose it came to me so I could find its other half."

Charles' eyes filled with tears as he smiled up at his intended, "You still haven't answered my question, Elsie.

Laughing through her tears, Elsie lowered herself to her knees so she and Charles were now face to face, "Oh yes, Charles Carson, oh yes. I will most happily marry you." He made no attempt to hold back his tears as he slipped the two bands onto her finger. Taking her face in his hands and looking deep into her eyes, Charles whispered the words "my wife," before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

**Think I am ending it here. Again, so much thanks for your time and kind words. You are all so gorgeous.**


End file.
